


Traitor

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/F, Hogwarts Professors, Lesbian Ginny Weasley, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Pansy Parkinson, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, References to Depression, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 03:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: Pansy never thought she’d teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts. She also never thought she'd work with Ginny Weasley to set Draco up with Harry Potter.





	Traitor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icicle33 (Icicle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icicle/gifts).



> Written for femmefest-2018. Thanks for reading!

Pansy never thought she’d end up at Hogwarts as a professor. She’d hated her schoolgirl years; she’d imagined herself as an adult traveling the world, dominating international politics, conquering hostile boardrooms and high stakes negotiations. Instead she taught Transfiguration to children in rural Scotland. 

She’d struggled after the war. She avoided her friends. She smashed mirrors. She thought: _Everything I do is a mistake._ She wrote Harry Potter a long, wandering letter filled with apology and self-pity. She burned it and sent him a bottle of mead instead. He probably thought she was trying to poison him.

Draco had set her straight. He wiped away her tears and brushed the tangles from her hair with his fingers. He took her in his arms and kissed her forehead; he whispered in her ear: “Get over yourself.” She laughed and punched him in the shoulder. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

The next day she went to London to look for employment. She thought she’d work in a shop. By chance she stumbled on _Agatha Libby’s Touring Tutors_. In the window flashed countless photographs of a woman who strongly reminded her of Professor Lockhart. Pansy snorted and stepped inside.

“Do you know Transfiguration?” Agatha’d asked, her desk a sea of colorful pamphlets and gilded picture frames that held more copies of her face.

Pansy tapped her nose with her wand. She’d become quite good at this trick. Her nostrils tingled as they shortened, her bridge elongating, the tip rounding. Agatha stifled a yawn. “Any teenage girl can do that. Show me something that will impress me.”

There was a spell she’d mastered during her final year at Hogwarts. She went to the brick wall behind Agatha’s desk. She said, “I learned this so I could hide,” and then transfigured herself into the wall. Agatha gaped. She reached for Pansy, and gasped when she touched a brick arm. “You poor child,” she said.

The job was nothing special. Pansy Apparated to different parts of Britain to teach Transfiguration to spoiled children. She enjoyed the instruction; she was slowly earning the right to be alive when so many had died. Maybe she was worth something if these children learned from her. A few months into the work she ran into Ginny Weasley. 

Weasley was an international Quidditch star. She was tall and muscular, and took up most of the sofa that belonged to Pansy’s customer. Pansy thought, _I had no idea Weasley was gay._ She said goodbye to her student and escaped to the Floo. As the green flames enveloped her, Pansy’s gaze fell to the large boots on the floor, then moved up to a face that was too pretty to belong to someone wearing those boots. Weasley winked at her.

The next time she saw Weasley they stood awkwardly in McGonagall’s office, the headmaster portraits chirping on the walls. McGonagall gazed at them, a stern frown pulling at her mouth.

“I can no longer teach Transfiguration while undertaking my headmistress duties,” she said to Pansy. “Agatha is a dear friend of mine. She swears that you are up to the challenge.”

“I assure you I am,” Pansy lied. 

McGonagall turned her attention to Weasley. Her expression didn’t change. “Are you sure you want to leave your Quidditch career? Hogwarts is a far cry from the glamorous life of a sports star.”

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Weasley said. She rubbed at her shoulder, and winced. “I’d rather teach flying than lose my arm.”

“Very good,” McGonagall said. She stood and walked them to the door. “I will show you the curriculum, explain what will be required of you, then we’ll talk compensation.”

Pansy felt like she was in a dream. She dreamed a lot about Hogwarts. She dreamed that she burned to death like poor Crabbe. She dreamed that Potter had slit her throat and laughed as she bled out on the Great Hall floor. She always woke up to a voice whispering _traitor_ in her ear.

“Watch out,” Weasley said, because Pansy almost missed the first step on the winding stairs. Weasley grabbed her shoulder, a strong, warm hand steadying her. Pansy shivered, and did her best not to lean into the touch.

“Thanks,” Pansy said.

*

The first months of the school year convinced Pansy that teaching was the most ridiculous profession. She performed for the children. She fell to her knees and begged them to learn. The classroom was hot and they were sweaty and ill-tempered. She tried not to stare at their spots.

Her growing friendship with Weasley saved her. She looked forward to meal times and breaks. Weasley sat close to her and talked about everything except the war. She charmed her with jokes about Quidditch mishaps (splinters in the arse, face-planting into the ground, etc.); she asked about Agatha and laughed at Pansy’s stories of spoiled children. In the cool dusk, Pansy watched Weasley teach flying, then squinted into the fading light when Weasley rose high, high to mess around with Quaffles. Pansy brought her marking and ignored it in her lap. Weasley was breathtaking on her broom. Her hair was like fire across the sky, her arms strong enough to rough up a bloke or hold Pansy down as she forced her whole fucking hand inside her. 

Pansy turned her face away. She shouldn’t have those thoughts right now. There were children around.

One night, Weasley jumped from her broom and stalked over to Pansy. Her face glistened with sweat, her cheeks flushed from the wind. Pansy wondered what her neck tasted like.

“I have a proposal,” Weasley said. She crowded Pansy on the bench, their thighs touching. 

“Oh?” Pansy felt the sweaty heat of Weasley.

“Has it occurred to you that most of our mates work together?”

“At the Ministry.”

“Right.” Weasley leaned back, stretching. She draped an arm behind Pansy. “We should have a party.”

“Here?”

“Merlin, no.” Weasley laughed. “Somewhere low key. Not in London.”

“Hogsmeade then.” Pansy licked her lips. She was thinking about Draco. “I’m not sure if our friends will get along.”

“Anyone in particular?”

Now it was Pansy’s turn to laugh. “You know who I’m talking about.”

“I don’t think we know everything.”

Pansy squinted at her. “Draco’s my best friend.”

“Does that mean he tells you _everything_?”

Pansy hesitated. “Not all the time.”

“It’s worth a try. Just ask him, and I’ll ask my mates.” Weasley plucked something from Pansy’s hair, her fingers slipping through Pansy’s strands. “You were carrying bits of a leaf.”

Pansy tried not to react; she stood and smiled a little. “See you around.”

“Yeah,” Weasley said, smiling back. Her eyes were dark, nearly colorless in the gloom, but Pansy knew the sunlight made them like caramel.

That night Pansy met Draco at the castle gates. He paused before stepping over the threshold. “Are you sure you trust me? You must consider the children’s safety.”

She rolled her eyes. “You already let in Death Eaters. You’ve done your worst.”

“Right,” Draco said. He followed her down the path to the castle’s grand entrance. “Speaking of the children, how has work been?”

“Don’t ask,” she said, holding the door open for him, “I might bloody cry.”

He laughed loudly, and she shushed him. The last thing she needed was one of her students spotting her with her guard down. 

“Sorry, don’t want to get you into trouble.” He smirked.

When they made it to her rooms, she slammed the door shut behind them and threw off her robes. Finally she could _breathe_. She slumped down on her sofa. “Merlin, make me a drink.”

Draco snorted and went to her liquor cabinet. “What does my queen request?”

“Something sweet.” Pansy rolled her shoulders and flexed her toes. “Something that will put me to sleep.”

“How exciting.” He examined her selection. “I’ll make us _Magic Carpet Orgasms_.”

“Yes, yes!” She moaned and thrashed; she pretended to swoon. “Finally a man who knows how to treat me right.”

“No man could ever treat you right,” he said, mixing the drinks with his wand. 

“True.” She let her head fall back on the sofa. She closed her eyes and thought about Weasley.

Draco levitated their bubbling drinks over to the sofa. They gave off thick steam like a cauldron. “How’s Weasley?”

She nearly choked on her sip. “How’s Potter?” 

They glared at each other.

“I wouldn’t know,” Draco said. “We are barely friends.”

“Weasley and I aren’t friends either.”

“Liar.” Draco grinned over his glass. “The last time we talked about this, you said something like, ‘Oh, Draco, I don’t know if I can be friends with someone I want to shag!’”

She glared again. “You really are a cruel beast. You know full well that I was _exceptionally_ pissed when I said that.”

He cackled. He stared down at his drink, thinking. She expected him to say something revealing, but instead he said, “This fairy gin is quite good. It’s not too sweet.”

“It’s okay if you fancy him.”

“No, it’s not.” He sucked in a breath. “What would my father say?”

“Who cares what any of them would say? Our lives would be shit if we followed their rules.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I _am_ right.” She fell silent for a moment. “Weasley wants to have a party.”

“Merlin, no.” Draco shuddered.

“Potter will be there.”

“So what? I can’t escape him at work; why would I want to attend a party with him?”

She stared at him. “I know you are not this delusional.”

“You are determined to humiliate me.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “We should go to this party.”

“You go. I can’t.”

She finished her drink and slammed the glass on the table. She stood. “Why are you being like this?”

“Oh, Pans,” he said. “Surely you know by now I’m a coward?”

“Everyone knows you want him.” Pansy sucked in breath, frustrated. “Everyone knows he wants you.”

“Do you think the children know you wet your knickers every time Weasley comes close?”

She threw a small pillow at his face. “Bastard.”

“You started it,” he grumbled. 

“We’re going to this party.” She Summoned her wand.

He held up his hands. “Oh, no. I’m _terrified_.” 

She tapped her wand against her palm. “You should be.”

“Fine,” he said reluctantly, his eyes flashing, “but no funny business!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, bored.

*

The next day Weasley spotted her in the corridor. “Have tea with me?”

Pansy blinked. “Sure.”

They headed for Weasley’s rooms, which made Pansy’s stomach flutter. She wondered if Weasley lived with clutter, disorganization. _She’s a Weasley. Of course she lives with clutter._

Weasley muttered her password to a dozing portrait and guided Pansy into a small lounge. There were a few books on the coffee table, but most of the surfaces were cleared and dust free. Pansy turned to Weasley.

“The house elves are brilliant, aren’t they?”

Weasley laughed. “Please don’t say that around Hermione.”

“At the party, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Weasley rested her hand on her hip, casual. She wore a Muggle shirt that said _Girl Power_ in bold, pink letters. 

“Nice,” Pansy said, allowing her gaze to drift over Weasley’s small breasts. She bet her nipples were pink and so, so soft. She looked up and found Weasley staring at her. 

“Did you ask Malfoy about the party?”

“Oh, yes.” Pansy laughed. “I threatened him.”

Weasley raised her eyebrows. “What did you promise to do to him?”

“Nothing too bad. He knows I’ll thrash him when he’s being naughty.”

“I like that,” Weasley said. She Summoned their tea and offered Pansy a seat. “Milk and sugar?”

“Yes, please,” Pansy said, shivering.

Weasley fixed her tea and levitated it to her. They were silent for a moment. “We have to get them together.”

“Draco and Potter?”

Smiling, Weasley said, “I’m sick of hearing Harry complain about him. I’m sick of pretending that I’m blind. Harry wants Malfoy. He’s practically obsessed with him.”

Pansy hesitated. She was too loyal to say anything that would hurt Draco. “Yes, I think I know what you mean.”

“At the party. We need to force them together. Alone. Preferably with alcohol.”

Pansy closed her eyes. She wanted to be alone with Weasley with alcohol. She’d guzzle her weight in whiskey, then fall to her hands and knees for her. _Do what you want with me_ , she’d say. _Just let me taste you._

“I don’t want to be a traitor,” Pansy said.

“Don’t you think Malfoy would appreciate your help in the long run?”

“No. I think he would hate me for the rest of his life.”

Weasley shook her head. “You two are best mates. He could never hate you.”

“You don’t know that.” Pansy gulped her hot tea. “It’s very easy to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Weasley smiled.

“You’re too nice to hate anyone!”

“That’s definitely not true. I hate loads of people.”

Pansy looked away. Her heart pounded. “I don’t want to lose him. I would never do anything to hurt him.”

“I admire you.”

“What?”

“Your . . . determination . . . your passion.”

Pansy huffed. “You don’t know me.”

“I want to know you.”

Pansy blushed. She hated when she blushed. “How do you know I’m worth it?” she asked quietly.

“I wonder what you wear under your robes.”

Now Pansy was truly blushing. Her face probably looked like a tomato. “What if I wore nothing?”

Weasley inhaled loudly. Pansy didn’t have the nerve to look in her eyes, but her mouth was wet from her tongue. Pansy wanted to taste that mouth. 

“I’m sure McGonagall wears nothing under her robes,” Weasley said, all humor. 

“Oh, hell,” she groaned. “What a visual.”

“I bet you’re fashionable; I bet you know how to show some leg.”

“Do you want to see my legs?”

“Yes,” Weasley said.

Pansy squirmed. “I’ll show them to you at the party.”

“Is that a promise?” Weasley’s voice was low.

Stupidly, Pansy met her gaze. Merlin. She forgot what it felt like for a woman to look at her like this. Weasley’s eyes said: _Watch out. I will eat you._

Pansy had to remain calm. This was nothing more than light flirting. “We need to plan. We need to pick a date, a location.”

“Right,” Weasley said, and summoned some parchment. “What should the vibe be? Sexy or casual?”

“A bit of both,” Pansy said, thinking. “We want both of them to be comfortable.”

“Oh, yes. I almost forgot.” Weasley scribbled on the parchment. “Harry would love a pub; I’m sure Malfoy would love somewhere sophisticated. Maybe we can hire an orchestra.”

Pansy snorted. “He isn’t a dullard. He’s a snob, but he likes dancing to the wireless.”

“I want to see that,” Weasley said.

“No, you don’t,” she said, trying not to be jealous.

*

Pansy struggled with sleep in the lead up to the party. Sleep had always been difficult for her, but now Weasley filled too much of her head. Pansy thought about her constantly; she wondered if Weasley still had feelings for Potter; she wondered what her breath tasted like in the morning.

She wanted Weasley like Draco wanted Potter, but for some reason, she wasn’t afraid. Too much about her life had already been rewritten. She was never meant to be attracted to women. She was never meant to be a nobody teacher. She was never meant to be the last Parkinson still alive. After all the loneliness and tears and silent screaming into a pillow, who cared if she shagged a Gryffindor? 

She lay in bed, darkness pressing down on her, and thought about Weasley’s shoulders. They were brilliant shoulders. Strong. Angular. They were probably dusted with freckles, and Pansy wanted to lick them. She wanted to nibble down Weasley’s body, make her squirm. She wanted to force her strong thighs apart and sink her tongue deep, deep inside Weasley. She bet Weasley would cry out. She could hear it now: _Pansy, Pansy, Pansy._

She lay in darkness and imagined lecturing her schoolgirl self: _Wake up, Idiot!_

*

The party was held at _The Howl_. The pub was Hogsmeade’s attempt at being cool, and it failed miserably. The décor was cheap, the furniture wooden and old. It looked like a nan’s teashop going through a midlife crisis.

Pansy wore a silver dress with a high slit that nearly showed her knickers. She spent hours on her hair and makeup, and it’d taken everything in her not to transfigure her nose. She reminded herself that Weasley had flirted with her when she was wearing no makeup at all. Maybe Weasley liked it when women looked a little like swine. 

Draco had insisted on arriving alone, which made Pansy suspicious. She leaned against the wall, sipping her overly sweet cocktail, and watched the door. Weasley was chatting with Potter, who was more attractive than Pansy remembered. He’d grown into his knees and ugly eyeglasses. She watched Weasley’s face. Weasley was relaxed, friendly. She wasn’t drooling over Potter.

“Hello, Parkinson.”

She turned and found Ronald Weasley grinning at her. 

“Hello, Weasley.” She sipped her drink.

“Nice party.”

“Yes.” She stared at him. Weasley looked like him around the nose, but they had different eyes. She had warm, beautiful eyes, while he looked like a fish. 

“Ginny told me about the plan.”

“What plan?”

He hesitated. “The plan about Harry and Malfoy.”

“Oh, _that plan_.” She yawned. “Is this where you tell me it will never work?”

“No.” He shrugged and gulped his beer. He seemed thoughtful. “Harry’s always been a little mad.”

“He has to be mad to be attracted to Malfoy?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know if I could be with somebody who tried to kill me.”

“Draco tried to kill him?”

“You know what I mean.”

Pansy laughed. “No, I don’t.” She fingered one of her glittery bracelets. “I was the one who tried to kill him. Tried to give him up to . . . you know.”

Weasley nodded solemnly. “Yes, I remember.” He looked at her, sizing her up. “I’m very protective of the people I love.”

“Like a dog.” She smirked.

He didn’t smile. “You hurt her and I will come after you.”

“I love threats!” She turned fully to him; she let her gaze burn with hatred. “Tell me: What exactly will you do once you’ve caught me?”

He stepped away. He shook his head. “Nothing, probably. Maybe bark a little.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I want _her_ to hurt me?”

He grimaced. He held up a hand. “Say no more.” 

Pansy laughed. She didn’t think he’d get the innuendo. The door opened and she jerked around. Draco had arrived. She went to him.

“You actually came,” she whispered, taking his coat. 

“Kill me,” he whispered back. His gaze went directly to Potter. “Fuck, I need a drink.”

She ordered him a drink. When she pressed the glass into his hands, she felt him trembling. “Ta,” he said, and gulped it down.

“Don’t drink too much,” she said. “The last thing we need is you sicking up in Potter’s lap.”

“Merlin.” Draco tugged at his hair. “I can’t do this.”

“Stop whinging.” She took his hand and dragged him over to Potter and Weasley. 

“Hello,” Potter said. 

Draco nodded but didn’t say anything. His eyes were a little wild. 

Weasley cleared her throat. “So, Malfoy! How’s work?”

“Terrible,” he said, his voice weak. He gulped his drink. 

“Same.” Weasley laughed a little. “I want to throttle most of the children.”

“Just throttle them? I want to hang them by their toenails and crush in their eyeballs with my thumbs.”

Potter laughed, his gaze bright. “What a visual, Parkinson.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps teaching isn’t for me.”

“It’s for no one,” Weasley said, snorting. “Let’s all find a table.” Draco tried to back away, but Pansy grabbed his wrist, not letting go.

They nabbed a table in the corner, with Pansy stationed between Draco and Weasley. Potter and Draco sat next to each other; Draco seemed overly conscious of not letting his elbow brush Potter.

“This place is nice,” Weasley said, and waved over the waiter for more drinks. 

“I’m glad we didn’t pay more to have it to ourselves.” Pansy glanced around the room; there were only a few lonely blokes who weren’t on the guest list. Most of the people invited were Ministry types; she and Weasley had decided to not invite the older professors. She didn’t need McGonagall and Flitwick seeing her pissed, vulgar, dancing like a lunatic. 

“Neville seems like he’s enjoying himself,” Potter said. Neville was snogging his wife in the corner. 

“Tarts,” Pansy said, disgusted. Draco snorted. 

“I heard you like dancing,” Potter said to him.

Draco glared at Pansy. “Some people talk too much.”

Potter laughed. “I like dancing, but I don’t do it often. Everybody around me usually ends up with sore elbows and bruised sides.”

“I can confirm,” Weasley said, faking a wince. She touched Pansy briefly on her bare knee.

“Try standing next to him at the canteen,” Draco said. “He always gets too excited when there’s lemon curd.”

Pansy stared at Draco. “You have lunch together?”

“Sometimes,” Draco said, not looking at her.

“I love lemon desserts,” Potter said, shrugging. “You really like chocolate. And any type of biscuits.”

Draco flushed a little. “You noticed that?”

“Of course,” Potter said, his gaze on the table.

“You two should dance,” Weasley said hopefully.

“No,” Draco said.

“Yeah, that sounds like a bad idea,” Potter said.

“Come on, let’s show them how to do it,” Weasley said, taking Pansy’s hand.

Draco looked utterly betrayed. “Traitor,” he whispered harshly. 

They went to the dancefloor. Weasley wrapped her strong arms around Pansy and drew her close. “How do you think it’s going?”

“Dunno,” Pansy said, letting her hands drift over Weasley’s curves. “I didn’t know they had lunch together.”

“Yeah, that was a surprise.”

Pansy tried focusing on Draco, but Weasley was too distracting. Pink and blue lights flashed across her face, her hair, and Pansy touched her arse, the back of her thighs. 

Weasley closed her eyes briefly. “I want you.”

“Yes,” Pansy said.

Weasley laughed lowly. “I must be very obvious.”

“Not too obvious.” Pansy took a deep breath; she tried to hold Weasley’s gaze but lost her nerve. “I fancy you, too.”

“I thought so.” Weasley pressed her mouth to Pansy’s hair. “You smell amazing.”

“You feel amazing,” Pansy whispered. She wanted to rip Weasley’s clothes off right there. She wanted to end up at a table with Weasley’s hand sneaking up her dress. 

“Let me kiss you,” Weasley said.

“Not here.” Pansy drew away. She glanced beyond Weasley. “Wait. Where’s Potter and Draco?”

The table was empty. They looked around, but didn’t spot their two friends. 

“This could mean anything,” Weasley said.

Pansy raised her eyebrows. “Let’s hope they’re just snogging somewhere private.”

“Hmm, that sounds nice.” Weasley nodded to her brother and Granger; then to Longbottom and a few other friends. “Looks like everybody’s good here. We won’t be missed if we just slip away . . .”

“Brilliant,” Pansy said, her heartbeat picking up. 

They left the pub and stumbled, laughing, into the cool night. They turned a corner and heard some voices in an alleyway. With her wand raised, Weasley ventured forward. She gasped softly, then tried to muffle her laughter. 

Pansy stepped closer, squinting. “Merlin,” she muttered, because there was Draco and Potter, wrapped together, snogging each other senseless. Potter’s glasses were crooked, his fingers frantic in Draco’s hair. Draco had a hand down his trousers.

“Right,” Weasley said. “Let’s leave them to it.”

“Sod it,” Pansy said, and pulled Weasley close. She turned them and Apparated to the castle gates.

Laughing, Weasley steadied herself. “You’re in a hurry.”

“You’ve no idea.” Pansy dragged her toward the looming castle. She thought of all the children spying on them from their dormitories, and dropped Weasley’s hand.

It took forever to get back to Pansy’s rooms; she didn’t even consider going to Weasley’s, but when they were finally alone, safe behind her closed door, she wondered if she’d been too bold. 

“Come here,” Weasley said, drawing Pansy into her arms. She kissed Pansy, and her lips were incredibly soft. Pansy moaned and deepened the kiss. She was too desperate for hesitation. Their tongues touched, then stroked together. Pansy tasted the alcohol on Weasley.

Pansy guided her the bedroom. She tried to push Weasley onto the bed, but Weasley stood firm. She laughed. “You’ll need to try harder than that.”

Gritting her teeth, she pushed harder, almost violently. Weasley laughed again and grabbed her wrists. They turned, and Pansy found herself on her back, Weasley between her legs. Weasley pressed down on her wrists.

“You’re not very strong,” Weasley said.

“Don’t need to be,” Pansy gasped, arching. She squirmed. “Fuck, Weasley.”

“Call me by my first name,” Weasley said.

“No.” Pansy tried to move away, but Weasley tightened her grip. 

“Merlin, you’re sexy.” Weasley kissed her neck.

“Get this dress off me.”

“All in good time.”

“No,” Pansy said, twisting. With all her might, she forced Weasley from her. She tore her dress off, revealing her black bra and knickers. She lay back on the bed, thighs open wide. “Do your worst.”

Weasley’s mouth was open. She was panting. She drew her hands along Pansy’s bare stomach, her smooth thighs. She unclasped her bra, her hands trembling a little. “Merlin, your tits,” she moaned.

Pansy placed Weasley’s hands on her breasts. Weasley squeezed, her thumbs rotating, caressing. Pansy arched into her touch.

Weasley kissed down her stomach, then helped remove Pansy’s knickers. She kissed Pansy’s thighs, then parted her lips to taste her clit. Pansy thrashed, moaning. Weasley, eyes burning, thrust a finger inside her.

“Think you can take me?”

Pansy huffed a laugh. “Sure.”

Weasley worked another finger inside, pressing up. Pansy liquefied and whispered, “Oh, fuck.”

“Think you can take my whole fucking hand?” Weasley asked.

“Lube,” Pansy said.

Weasley laughed and muttered the spell. She worked another finger inside, then another; Pansy panted and cried out. Weasley thrust in and out, her knuckles stinging a little. 

“More,” Pansy moaned, because she liked a challenge. 

“Fuck,” Weasley said, and tried to squeeze her thumb inside.

Wonderful pressure built in Pansy; she thrashed and trembled, as Weasley quickened her hand. Pansy turned away, not wanting to face Weasley as she came. Weasley gasped, unable to continue her thrusting. Pansy clenched down on her fingers.

When Pansy calmed down, she rolled on top Weasley. They snogged while Pansy slowly undressed her. Pansy mouthed her freckle-kissed stomach, her muscular shoulders. She’d been right: Weasley was pink in most places. 

“You’re so wet for me,” Pansy said, sliding a finger inside Weasley. “Did it get you all hot to fuck me with your pretty hand?”

“Pansy,” Weasley said, squirming. “I want your mouth on me. Now.”

“Do you want to ride my face? Do you want to choke me with your wet twat?”

“Merlin,” Weasley panted. She buried her hands in Pansy’s hair. “I knew you’d be naughty.” 

Pansy licked her open, her arousal thick and warm on her tongue. Weasley gasped and tugged on her hair. “Fuck me,” she whispered.

Pansy played with her clit. She thrust her tongue in and out, wetness smearing her chin. Weasley tasted sharp, salty; it was amazing. Pansy squeezed another finger inside, curling up, massaging. She sucked hard. Weasley cried out and trembled.

“Don’t stop,” Weasley said, strained. Pansy quickened her massaging, her sucking. Weasley’s mouth fell open, her thighs imprisoning Pansy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

 _Ginny_ , Pansy wanted to whisper. She moaned, her eyelids fluttering. She was pretty sure Weasley was coming. 

Weasley relaxed and fell silent. Pansy kissed up her body and found Weasley dozing, her mouth slightly open. Pansy laughed and kissed her nose. She pulled Weasley into her arms. Weasley murmured and pressed closer.

“Fuck, I needed that,” Weasley said, sighing against Pansy’s neck.

“Stay,” Pansy said, playing with Weasley’s beautiful hair. “In the morning we’ll Floo Potter and see what happened.”

“Great plan.” Weasley kissed her deeply.


End file.
